Classic Poem

DURING THE PROTECTORATE

Into the Devil tavern
— Three booted troopers strode,
From spur to feather spotted and splashed
— With the mud of a winter road.
In each of their cups they dropped a crust,
— And stared at the guests with a frown;
And drew their swords, and roared for a toast,
— " God send this Crum-well-down! "

A blue smoke rose from their pistol locks,
— Their sword blades were still wet;
There were long red smears on their jerkins of buff,
— As the table they overset.
Then into their cups they stirred the crusts,
— And cursed old London town;
Then waved their swords, and drank with a stamp,
— " God send this Crum-well-down! "

The 'prentice dropped his can of beer,
— The host turned pale as a clout;
The ruby nose of the toping squire
— Grew white at the wild men's shout.
Then into their cups they flung the crusts,
— And showed their teeth with a frown;
They flashed their swords as they gave the toast,
— " God send this Crum-well-down! "

The gambler dropped his dog's-eared cards,
— The waiting-women screamed,
As the light of the fire, like stains of blood,
— On the wild men's sabers gleamed.
Then into their cups they splashed the crusts,
— And cursed the fool of a town,
And leaped on the table, and roared a toast,
— " God send this Crum-well-down! "

Till on a sudden fire-bells rang,
— And the troopers sprang to horse;
The eldest muttered between his teeth,
— Hot curses — deep and coarse.
In their stirrup cups they flung the crusts,
— And cried as they spurred through the town,
With their keen swords drawn and their pistols cocked,
— " God send this Crum-well-down! "

Away they dashed through Temple Bar,
— Their red cloaks flowing free,
Their scabbards clashed, each back-piece shone —
— None liked to touch the three.
The silver cups that held the crusts
— They flung to the startled town,
Shouting again, with a blaze of swords,
— " God send this Crum-well-down! "